


No Bleeding Hearts

by whoknows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m going to come out,” Louis says abruptly. His grip on the controller is tight, knuckles whitening. He doesn’t look at Harry when he says it.</p>
<p>“What?” Harry says. Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth.</p>
<p>“When we re-negotiate our contracts. I’m going to come out.” Harry fumbles with the controller and manages to set it down on coffee table without cracking it in half.</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says. Louis is still pointedly not looking at him.</p>
<p>“I’m not having this argument with you again, Harry,” Louis tells him. He leans forward and deposits his own controller on the table beside Harry’s before standing up. “I’m gonna go to the hotel.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Bleeding Hearts

Harry smashes a couple of buttons on his controller. It’s about as effective as it always is - which is to say, completely useless. He loses, and flinches away from the celebratory nipple pinch that Louis never fails to hand out.

He’s in the middle of congratulating himself on avoiding the pinch for once when he notices that Louis didn’t actually move.

Harry frowns. “Y’alright?” he asks, prodding at Louis’ thigh with his toes.

“I’m going to come out,” Louis says abruptly. His grip on the controller is tight, knuckles whitening. He doesn’t look at Harry when he says it.

“What?” Harry says. Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“When we re-negotiate our contracts. I’m going to come out.” Harry fumbles with the controller and manages to set it down on coffee table without cracking it in half.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says. Louis is still pointedly not looking at him.

“I’m not having this argument with you again, Harry,” Louis tells him. He leans forward and deposits his own controller on the table beside Harry’s before standing up. “I’m gonna go to the hotel.”

Harry shoots to his feet, making a grab for Louis’ wrist that Louis neatly avoids. “I thought you were staying with me,” he says, unable and unwilling to disguise the hurt in his voice.

Louis shoots him a sharp look, then, like he can’t believe Harry is being so dumb. “If I stay here the only thing that’s gonna happen is that we’re going to fight about it, you’re going to be a completely unreasonable dickhead, I’m gonna cry, and then we’re not going to talk for three weeks.”

Harry folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t think that it’s unreasonable to want to protect you from all the people who’re gonna call you a fag or all the ugly old men who are gonna shout things about your arse when you walk down the street.”

Louis’ jaw ticks, the same way it always does when they have this argument. “I’m not doing this with you right now,” he says, but he’s still not making eye contact, so Harry makes another grab for his arm. He gets it this time and curls his fingers around the fragile bones in Louis’ wrist.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Harry says. He tugs at Louis’ wrist until Louis lets himself be moved, lets Harry pull him into his chest. 

“It’s hurting me to keep it a secret,” Louis says to Harry’s chest quietly. “It’s hurting me that I can’t have a real relationship like everyone else.”

“You’ve had relationships,” Harry points out. Louis goes tense in his arms. 

“My longest relationship lasted two months,” Louis says bitterly. “As soon as the guy realized who I was he tried to blackmail me. The legal team had to throw everything they had at him to make him go away, and even if the guy didn’t end up realizing who I was where could that relationship have gone? We would never have been able to go out in public together, never have been able to go on a real date, or celebrate anniversaries or holidays together.”

Harry doesn’t have an argument for any of that, but that doesn’t make it seem like any less of a terrible idea.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Harry repeats. Louis steps back, out of the circle of his arms.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to have this conversation with you,” he says, eyes red rimmed and wet. “I’m going to go stay at the hotel with Liam.”

“Lou,” Harry says. 

Louis shakes his head sharply. “No,” he says firmly. “I’m going to go stay at the hotel with Liam, and I’m going to fly home with him tomorrow, and you’re going to stay here.” He makes his way to the door, gathering up his jacket and wallet and phone along the way.

Harry follows him. “People are going to call you a cocksucker,” he says bluntly. “They’re going to say that you like taking it up the arse and that they always knew you’d turn out to be the gay one ‘cause you’re little and pretty and flamboyant.”

Louis spins around and uses both of his hands to shove him back a few steps. “I know that,” he shouts. “I know what they’re going to call me, Harry, alright, but I don’t give a shit, because I’m going to feel better about myself.”

Harry grabs Louis’ hands before he can take them back. “Louis,” he starts. Louis interrupts him, shaking his head.

“If you say one more word about it I’m not going to sign at all,” he says challengingly. It’s an empty threat, of course it is, but Harry’s mouth snaps closed all the same. 

Louis wiggles his hands out of Harry’s grasp and shrugs into his jacket. Harry smoothes it down over his shoulders absently, more out of force of pure habit than anything, and watches him button it in silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quietly. Louis shakes his head, still fumbling with the last button, and Harry knows it’s because his eyes are still wet.

“Are you going to change your mind about it?” Louis asks, voice thick. They both watch Harry’s hands as he nudges Louis’ fingers out of the way and does up the last button.

The silence speaks louder than anything Harry could say. Louis nods, swallowing. “Don’t call me,” he says. “I need - just don’t call me, okay?”

Harry bites his lip and tips Louis’ face up gently, two fingers underneath his chin. There are tears lingering on Louis’ face that he wipes away before kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth, trying to ignore the way it trembles.

Louis allows it for a second before he pulls back. “Don’t call me,” he repeats, and Harry watches him walk away.

 

 

They go to sign their new contracts a week later. Harry’s talked to Louis exactly six times since he left in LA, and they’ve fought about it every single time. 

Harry keeps his mouth closed when Louis brings it up in the negotiation, gritting his teeth so hard he can almost hear them cracking.

He doesn’t contribute to the discussion other than to shake his head sharply when someone asks him directly if he has any feelings on the matter. The other boys are united in their very vocal support of it, but Harry just can’t. 

He can’t.

He’s not surprised when the boys ditch him after the meeting to go out and celebrate, but he can’t even find it in himself to be even the slightest bit sorry.

 

The next week results in nothing but radio silence from Louis and Liam. Niall texts him a few times, mainly about the awesome fish and chips he’s eating or the amazing pint that he’s drinking, always something food related. Zayn does his usual and hosts a conference call once to check in before he holes back up in his house like he’s allergic to the outside world.

Harry has no idea how they’re going to get through this tour, but he has at least another two weeks to wallow in his own misery before they have to figure it out, and he intends to take advantage of it.

He visits friends in LA, decorates the new house, goes home for a while and bugs his mum and sister, babysits Lux a bunch of times, hangs out with Grimmy and his mates whenever he gets the chance, and meets some new, interesting musician type people.

If he occasionally has to take a sleeping pill so he won’t lie awake all night no one has to know.

It’s all fine. He’s doing the same things that he always does when they have a break, and he pointedly doesn’t think about all the hours that he would have been spending with Louis that he suddenly has to fill up with other things.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised when he wakes up one morning to Liam slapping him repeatedly in the head.

“You’re the worst,” Harry groans. He smashes a pillow over his face in the hopes that Liam will leave him alone if his target is obstructed.

Liam starts slapping his bare stomach instead, and, not for the first time, Harry curses himself for thinking that it’s a good idea to sleep naked. Liam claims he’s gotten used to it, but he still shrieks like a banshee if he’s exposed to Harry’s naked ass before eight o’clock in the morning.

“Actually, mate, you’re the worst,” Liam says, but he doesn’t sound like typical cheerful Liam. Harry peeks out at him from the corner of the pillow, frowning a little. Sad Liam is the worst.

“Y’alright?” he asks. Liam slaps him again, in the ribs this time, hard enough to actually hurt. Harry curls in on himself, gasping.

“No, mate, I’m not alright,” Liam snaps. “I’m not alright because I’ve had to deal with angry pouty Louis for the past two weeks and it’s all your fucking fault.”

Harry groans and reaches out blindly for the pillow. He doesn’t find it. “Angry pouty Louis is not that bad,” he mumbles to the mattress. Angry pouty Louis can be appeased with tiny little mouth kisses, Liam knows that. 

“You’re right,” Liam says. A pillow hits Harry in the back, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Clearly Liam is putting a good portion of his strength into this. Harry’s going to have serious bruises before this day is over.

“What I’ve been dealing with is actually much worse than that, because you broke his heart, Harry.”

Harry sighs and opens his eyes, squinting against the light to see Liam’s face. “I can’t pretend that I like it, Liam,” he says.

“You shouldn’t have to _pretend_ to like it, Harry,” Liam says. “You should be ecstatic that Louis is going to finally be able to be himself.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Harry mutters. It’s too fucking early for this conversation.

Liam’s looking at him, though, with an expression on his face that says this conversation isn’t going to be over for a while, no matter how much of a dick Harry is. “Why don’t you want him to come out?” 

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” Harry says. It’s like the fortieth time that he’s said it, and it’s not like Liam’s never been there for the fights that Harry and Louis have had over this. He knows why.

Liam scoffs. “That’s bullshit and you know it. If Grimmy gets homophobic insults thrown at him you feel bad and you hug him and it sucks, but you know that he’s better off being out than being in the closet.”

“Lou’s not Grimmy,” Harry says petulantly. 

Liam rolls his eyes. “No, of course he’s not, but what’s the difference when it comes to this?”

“The difference is, Liam, that Grimmy can handle the homophobia. He’s used to it. Louis’ tiny and pretty and flamboyant. It’s going to be a whole new level of people shouting at him every time he leaves the house. I don’t want him to have to be exposed to that.”

Liam’s staring at him again. Harry shifts uncomfortably. He really should have never given Liam a key. “Mate, you do realize that Louis already gets all of that every day, right? He sees it all the time on Twitter. I’ve been with him when gross old guys start shouting it at him in the streets. He can handle it. He’s _been_ handling it.”

“It’ll be different,” Harry says weakly. Liam keeps staring at him.

“Harry, do you love Louis?” Liam asks. His voice is oddly gentle.

Harry frowns. “Of course I love him. He’s my best friend. We spend an insane amount of time together. I couldn’t do that with someone that I didn’t love.”

There’s something in Liam’s expression that Harry can’t quite put his finger on. “No, mate. Me and Louis are best friends. You and I are best friends. Louis and Niall are best friends. Louis and Zayn are best friends. Louis and Stan are best friends. You and Louis are in an entirely different category.”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “And what category would that be?” he snipes. 

Liam puts a hand over half of his face, eyes wide. “How have I never realized this before?” he asks, but he’s talking to himself, not Harry.

“Realized what?” Harry demands. If Liam’s going to wake him up at seven in the morning on their time off he can’t just go off having conversations all by himself.

“You don’t love Lou, you’re _in_ love with him.”

Harry rolls his eyes again. “You’ve been spending way too much time on the internet again, Liam.”

Liam smacks him in the head. “I’m being serious, Harry.”

“So am I, Liam. I didn’t realize that you were bored enough to start fucking around on the Tumblr tags.”

Liam’s gone back to just looking at him. Harry’s really tired of it. “What do you do when Louis’ being angry pouty Louis?” Liam asks.

“Tiny little mouth kisses,” Harry answers automatically. “You know this.”

“That is not a normal thing to do with a bloke you’re just friends with, Harry,” Liam says.

Harry can’t stop his laugh. “You give angry pouty Louis tiny little mouth kisses every time you leave to go back to your own place,” Harry says. “Zayn and Niall give angry pouty Louis tiny little mouth kisses all the time. Are all of you in love with him?”

“How did tiny little mouth kisses start?” Liam asks. Harry stops laughing and folds his arms over his chest.

“I’m done with this conversation,” he announces. “I’m going to make breakfast.” He climbs out of bed, ignoring the horrified gagging noises that Liam makes at the sight of his bare arse, and shuffles down the hall.

 

Harry serves up two plates of food and brings them into the living room where Liam’s watching some on the telly. They eat in silence for a few minutes. Harry’s getting pretty invested in whether Spongebob and Patrick are going to get the courage to ride the Fiery Fist O’Pain. He’s pretty sure that they do, but the only way to find out is to watch the episode all the way through.

“I think you’ve sabotaged every single relationship that he’s ever been in,” Liam says abruptly.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Harry asks, shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“I’ll let it go on one condition,” Liam says. Harry raises his eyebrows and waits. “Tell me what you think about when you jerk off.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “There’s only one thing I think about, Liam,” he says. “And that’s your pert little arse.”

Liam slaps him again. Harry slaps back, and it devolves into a wrestling match that Liam inevitably wins. “Okay,” Liam says, red faced and panting. Harry’s just glad that it at least takes _some_ effort on Liam’s part to beat him up, because otherwise that would just be extremely embarrassing. “On second thought, don’t actually tell me what you think about, because that’s weird and gross. But I’d bet that it’s Louis, every time.” He rolls off, and Harry sits up.

“Sometimes I think about your sister,” Harry says thoughtfully. Liam shrieks, high-pitched and loud, and then they’re wrestling again.

 

 

Of course, now that Liam’s gone and brought it up, every time Harry is in the mood to get off Louis’ face inevitably ends up flashing through his thoughts, sometimes half asleep and pliant, sometimes awake and manic, and, very rarely, still and thoughtful.

Thinking about all of that leads to thinking about that one time, the one that Harry tries to never think about, the one that they don’t talk about. He doesn’t touch his dick any longer than he has to for the next three days, and by the end of it he’s short tempered and exhausted.

He could go out and pull, or call someone up, because while Harry hasn’t had nearly the amount of sex that the media likes to think he has, there’s not exactly of shortage of people willing to sleep with him on short notice.

He doesn’t trust his brain not to conjure up images of Louis during it, though, so he doesn’t and gets steadily crankier.

By the time rehearsals roll around, Harry’s snapped at Mike, the guy who drives him around sometimes, no less than five times. And that. Harry doesn’t snap at people. That’s not the way his mum raised him, to take out his frustration on people who’ve done nothing to deserve it.

Top all that off with the fact that Louis _still_ isn’t speaking to him, and yeah. Not the greatest rehearsal ever.

 

Niall follows him back to the flat after the rehearsal finishes. Harry pretty much just wants to pass out on his bed, but there’s no world in which he’ll tell Niall to go home, so he just unlocks the door and collapses on the couch instead.

Niall’s as normal as he ever is, hanging off of Harry’s back while Harry throws together something for dinner, running around and going through Harry’s mail, disappearing into the bedroom for an extraordinary amount of time.

Harry doesn’t realize that he’s looking for something until Niall brings it up. “So where’s all your stuff?”

“At home,” Harry says absently, focusing on not nicking himself with the knife. Onions are tricky like that, all round and roll-y.

“Like, at your mum’s?” Niall presses. 

Harry peels off the last layer of skin and starts dicing. “No, like, with Louis.”

Niall’s silent for a minute. “So why is all your stuff at his place when this place is the one that has your name signed on a deed?”

Harry stops dicing and looks up. “Not you too.” 

Niall shrugs, unrepentant. “I’m just saying, Li has a point.”

“Liam thinks that because I’ve kissed Louis on the mouth I must be in love with him,” Harry says, scraping the diced onions off of the chopping board and into the waiting pan.   
He gives them a stir and tosses a bit of salt in to help them caramelize.

“Well,” is all Niall says.

Harry arches his eyebrows. He seems to be doing that a lot these days. “I’ve kissed you on the mouth more in the past three weeks than I have Lou,” he points out. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but we’re kind of a touchy feely band.” 

There must be something in his tone, something sharp, because Niall raises both hands like a peace offering. “I’ll let it go. Just think about it, yeah?” 

Harry groans. He can’t exactly stop thinking about it with the way they’re pestering him, but Niall does actually let it drop, and they eat in peace.

 

He gets an email from Zayn the next day. He’s immediately suspicious of it, because all it says in the subject line is _‘hahaha remember how young we were bro’_ , but he opens it nonetheless.

It starts off innocent, pictures and gifs of them in the early days, of the five of them goofing around, a couple from the Kiss You video, some of them hopping on Paul’s back for piggyback rides.

Then a whole lot of Harry staring at Louis. 

Harry rolls his eyes and hits the delete button.

 

Harry goes home that day, mainly because he’d run out of clean clothes at the flat and didn’t want to go the shop to buy laundry detergent when there’s perfectly good laundry detergent sitting on top of the washer going to waste.

He doesn’t know whether he expected to find Louis there or not, but either way he definitely didn’t expect to find Louis in some bloke’s lap on their couch in the middle of the living room.

Harry spends a minute wishing that the living room was visible from the front door so he could slam it really hard and watch them jump apart. As it is he has to settle for stomping through the hallway and slamming his bedroom door so hard that for a minute he’s worried it’s going to rattle off of its hinges.

He takes a sleeping pill that night.

 

Louis’ bedroom door is closed firmly in the morning. Normally he sleeps with it ajar, claiming that he doesn’t sleep right unless he can hear Harry breathing loudly. Harry thinks that he’s full of shit. There’s no way he breathes loud enough that Louis can hear him from all the way down the hall.

Harry can count on one hand the number of times that Louis has slept with it closed all the way. When it’s closed it means that the guy has stayed the night.

Harry scowls and twists the handle. It’s not locked, which it really should be if Louis was actually trying to stop him from coming in.

Not that it would have worked, considering that Harry has the spare key for it tucked into his dresser for all the times that Louis has locked himself out after they throw a party.

Louis’ still sleeping, sprawled out on his stomach, sheets tugged up to his shoulders. There’s no sign that the guy was ever there, bed still mostly made up on the right side, room in its usual state of chaos, no more, no less.

Harry breathes out evenly, swipes his hand across his face, and goes to make breakfast.

 

Louis still isn’t up by the time it’s ready, even though Harry left his door wide open and he should be able to smell it by now, so Harry makes up a hefty plate, grabs a mug of tea, and brings it to him.

He’s awake, Harry can tell, but he doesn’t move, not even when Harry sets the tea just out of arm’s reach on his side of the bed before climbing onto the empty side of the mattress.

Harry doesn’t check to see if he’s wearing clothes before he wiggles underneath the sheets. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Louis is wearing clothes, just boxers, but if he _didn’t_ want Harry to cuddle him he would be naked, so Harry nudges his way into his side, wiggling one arm between Louis’ belly and the mattress and pulling until they’re more or less in the middle of the bed.

The food’s getting cold, probably, and that sucks because it was supposed to be a peace offering, but having Louis in his arms for the first time in nearly a month is too nice to pass up in favor of eating.

Louis rolls over and sits up after a minute, though, immediately reaching out for the tea. He doesn’t say anything, but he lets Harry take the mug out of his hands so he can have a sip.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Louis says idly. Harry can feel his eyes on his back as he stretches over Louis to get the food.

“Can you not be mad at me today and then go back to being mad at me tomorrow?” Harry asks, snagging a piece of bacon and popping it into his mouth. It’s not warm any more, but it’s still bacon and that’s really all that matters.

“That’s not the way an argument works, Harry,” Louis sighs. He slaps Harry’s hands away from the food and picks up the lone fork.

Harry sighs back and wiggles around until he can lay his head in Louis’ lap. Being in a fight with someone for a month is very exhausting.

The only sounds in the room for the next few minutes are of Louis chewing. Harry’s pretty sure that he’s purposely dropping bits of food into his hair, but he probably deserves it, so he keeps quiet.

“Tell me why you’re so against it,” Louis says quietly. Harry opens his mouth to reply, but Louis tugs his hair sharply. “Tell me the _real_ reason you’re so against it.”

Harry closes his mouth and burrows further down into Louis’ lap. He doesn’t say anything. “You know it’s not gonna change anything between us, right? Best friends, you and I. The dream team, innit?”

Harry can’t stop himself from scoffing into Louis’ thigh. Louis’ muscles tense underneath him, just for a second. “What is that supposed to mean?” Louis demands.

“It is going to be different,” Harry mutters petulantly.

“Why, because Larry Stylinson’s going to be back with a vengeance?” Louis asks. There’s a different bite to the words than there was five seconds ago, acerbic and hurt, like he honestly thinks that Harry really cares about that.

Harry flips over and stares up at him, frowning. From this angle he can see the hint of hair in Louis’ nose. “Larry Stylinson’s never lost its momentum,” Harry tells him solemnly. “All the fans still think that I bend you over after we’re finished a show and ream you until - ” 

Louis slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth. “Oh my god, stop it,” he says, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter. “You’re the bloody worst.”

Harry reaches up, pulls Louis’ hand off of his mouth and laces their fingers together. He doesn’t mean to say it, but somehow, “You’re different when you’re in a relationship,” just comes out.

Louis goes tense all over. “What?” 

His hands fall off of Harry’s body completely. Harry sits up slowly and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“Harry. What does that mean.”

“It’s not bad,” Harry says, fast. “It’s just - you’re different with me when you’re in a relationship.”

Louis is still staring at him. “I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” He’s already leaning back, away from Harry, and Harry can picture the next five years of his life in depressing Technicolor as it is, so he thinks _fuck it_ to himself.

“You overcompensate,” Harry says quickly, like he’s trying to pull off a band-aid, “like, you go out of your way to make sure that you’re treating me like I’m a bro, like I’m your frat boy friend or something and - ”

“I treat you like you’re my friend,” Louis interrupts calmly. Harry shakes his head wildly, throwing up a hand.

“No! You _don’t_ treat me like a friend! You don’t treat _any_ of your friends like that, Lou. Look at Stan, yeah? Whenever you’re together you’re all over him and he’s all over you.”

“I’ve known Stan since I was ten,” Louis says blankly.

“The point is that aren’t like that with any of your friends, not the ones that you’re really close to, anyway,” Harry says, frustrated. “When you’re in a relationship you treat me differently, like you’re afraid that the guy’s gonna believe that the rumors are true if he sees the way that we really are together. You pull away.”

Louis is looking away, now, at the wall instead of at Harry’s face. Harry licks his lips and continues. “I don’t - I touch you every day, yeah? I’m used to touching you every day, but when you’re with a guy I’m lucky if you’ll pat me on the back. I don’t want to wake up in five years and not know where you are or what you’re doing that day.”

Louis’ gaze swings back to Harry, naked and still a little hurt. “I think that’s a little bit of a leap,” he says, wavering. He’s trying to make it a joke, and all of a sudden Harry’s tired of having this conversation, of trying to explain something that doesn’t even really make sense to him.

“Yeah,” Harry says shortly. He swings his legs off of the bed and leaves the room without another word.

Louis doesn’t stop him.

 

Harry spends the rest of the day curled up in his bed, watching movies on his laptop. He does have a telly in here, but he wants to be able to put his headphones on, burrow himself underneath the blankets and pretend like he doesn’t exist, so that’s exactly what he does.

The film he’s watching starts getting stranger and stranger, though, giant, man eating sharks flopping their way out of the water and snapping their giant teeth at beach goers. He has to turn it off when one of the sharks snaps up an eight month old and devours her, bits of blood and hair flying everywhere.

He can still hear the mother’s screams in the back of his head as he gets up and pads into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, pouring the water into a mug absently. He barely notices when half of the kettle splashes onto the floor. He’ll get it later.

He scratches as his bare thigh absently and grabs the milk from the fridge. He turns back around to add some to his tea, and smiles at Louis. Louis doesn’t smile back, face pale and drawn. His eyes close, and he tips backwards as Harry watches. 

His head smashes against the counter on the way down and lands in the water that Harry had spilled.

There’s blood seeping into the tiles, diluting in the water. The milk tips over on the counter and drips down into the blood.

Harry can’t breathe, can’t think. He kneels next to Louis’ prone body. The blood stains his pajama pants. 

Louis isn’t breathing. Harry’s fighting through the molasses in the air as he rests his cheek on Louis’ forehead. Every breath feels like syrup in his lungs.

“Don’t leave me,” Harry begs. He’s crying, fat salty tears sliding down his cheeks and onto Louis’ skin. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” He shudders and clutches Louis tighter, knees shifting on the mattress beneath them.

It feels like his heart might be gone, gone whenever Louis has gone. It’s like an absence of feeling, but all of a sudden Harry knows what he has to do. “I’m coming,” he promises Louis’ cool skin. “I’m coming. I won’t let you be alone.”

He leans down to fit their mouths together one last time before they have to find each other again and meets Louis’ wide blue gaze. Louis’ mouth is passive, but so incredibly warm.

Harry pulls back. Louis just stares at him, wet hair clinging to his head, hands clenched around Harry’s biceps.

Harry inhales sharply and glances around. He’s in Louis’ bedroom, on top of him in his bed, thighs bracketing Louis’ hips. He scrambles off, heart beating crazily in his chest.

“Nightmare,” he blurts out. 

Louis nods, eyes still wide. He clears his throat. “You threw a cup of water on me,” he says.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles. He should go back to his own room. He should go back to his own room and go back to sleep and wake up feeling less tired.

Somehow he ends up on his side next to Louis. The sheets are wet and sticking to the side of Harry’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks eventually.

Harry keeps quiet and inches his leg closer until it presses up against Louis’ thigh. “You kept saying my name all panicky and scared,” Louis presses.

Harry shakes his head sharply and puts his whole body right up against Louis’, burying his face into Louis’ chest. Louis sighs and rubs his hand through Harry’s hair. He doesn’t ask again.

Harry falls asleep feeling gritty and anxious.

 

He wakes up warm and still sleepy and turned on. It takes him a couple of minutes to realize that he’s rocking his hips into the curve of Louis’ arse. 

He manages to stop, but only just, because this, here and now, reminds him of that one time, reminds of him of Louis climbing into his bed naked, drunk and needy. Reminds him of already being naked in his own bed, of spreading Louis out underneath him, of holding Louis down and rocking his hips down until his cock had slipped in between the cheeks of Louis’ bum so easily, of listening to Louis whimper and beg until Harry had let him come, of Louis taking his hand and kissing the inside of his wrist until he came in between Louis’ thighs. 

Of Louis twisting around and linking his arms around Harry’s neck and convincing Harry to kiss him until they were too tired to keep their eyes open anymore.

Harry rolls away and rubs both hands over his face. If he tries he can almost ignore the heavy pulse of blood in his cock. Louis is still, too still to be sleeping, but he’s not going to say anything, and he’s not going to move until Harry gets out of the bed. He’s going to pretend to be asleep unless Harry forces the issue.

Harry knows that for a fact.

“I’m going to go to LA for the weekend,” he says, sitting up. Louis turns his head and watches Harry with half open eyes. He doesn’t say anything.

Harry rubs at his chest absently, trying to each the ache. He must have eaten something weird yesterday. “This isn’t working for us, yeah?” he says gently, because the look on Louis’ face is nearly betrayed.

“You don’t make any sense,” Louis snaps, frustrated and angry. “Yesterday you practically cried yourself to sleep in my arms because you had a dream that I died in and today you can’t get far enough away from me.” He sits up and throws the duvet off. 

Harry watches as he strides around the room, grabbing sweatpants and a shirt to wear and tugging them on with jerky motions. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing as it catches on a knot.

“You know, maybe it’s good that you’re going to run away again,” Louis says suddenly. “God knows that I can’t take any more of this passive aggressive bullshit.”

Harry bristles. “You’re the one who told me not to call,” he says. Louis levels an incredulous look at him.

“When have you ever listened to me when I’ve said something like that?” he cries. He circles the bed just so he can shove at Harry’s chest. “If I tell you to leave me alone you’re supposed to know that it means to leave me alone for like, four hours, and then cuddle me for the next three days straight!” 

He shoves at Harry again, and then again, and then again, over and over until Harry has to catch his hands and hold them against his chest. “Baby,” Harry murmurs helplessly, clutching Louis’ hands a little tighter. He’s never - he’s never seen Louis like this before, distraught and angry and hurt, not like this, not to this degree.

Louis breathes, in and out, in and out, head tipped down. “You keep going on about how you don’t want things to be different between us,” he says unevenly, “but they’ve been different for a long time.” 

“Different bad?” Harry asks. Louis makes a soft, sad noise when he exhales again. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he says unsteadily. “I don’t - maybe our relationship isn’t as normal as we think it is.”

Harry lets go of one of Louis’ hands and uses it to tip his head up. “What are you talking about?”

“This feels like a breakup, doesn’t it?” Louis asks. “It feels like we’re breaking up right now and it’s not because we don’t love each other, but it’s because we just can’t get it right no matter how hard we try.”

The words ping at a part of Harry that he doesn’t really think about. “We’re not breaking up,” he says firmly.

Louis looks at him. “Aren’t we?”

 

 

Harry throws the door to Liam’s bedroom open as hard as he can. It bounces off of the wall and hits Harry in the shoulder hard enough for him to wobble a little.

Weird, that. Isn’t there supposed to be that little metal springy thing that keeps the door from hitting the wall and putting a dent in the drywall?

Liam jerks upright, hands scrambling on the bedside table for something, Harry doesn’t know what. 

“This is all your fault,” Harry says loudly. He throws the newspaper in his hand at Liam’s face.

It misses, fluttering onto the empty side of the bed. “Jesus, Harry, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Liam groans. He picks up the paper and examines it. “What does the newspaper have to do with anything?”

Harry crosses the room and slaps the paper out of Liam’s hands. “It has nothing to do with the paper, it was just outside your door so I brought it in. Lou broke up with me, and it’s all your fault.”

Liam blinks.

Then he blinks again. “Am I missing something?” he wonders.

“He said that we should take a step back and try to focus on the business side of things,” Harry hisses. “If you hadn’t put the stupid idea that I want to be with him in my head I wouldn’t have been acting so weird and he wouldn’t have told me that I need to move out.”

Liam blinks some more. “Harry, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he says hesitantly. Harry waits for him to finish.

He doesn’t. “You don’t want me to take what the wrong way, Liam?” Harry snaps.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I didn’t put the idea in your head?” Liam asks. He must see Harry’s expression, because he winces. “Like, you know that One Time That You Don’t Talk About? That was way before I ever said anything to you.”

Harry frowns. “He told you about that?” he demands. “Also, don’t capitalize it.”

Liam shrugs. “He tells me a lot of things that he doesn’t tell you, mate.”

“No he doesn’t,” Harry says, frowning deeper. “He tells me everything. What would he tell you that he wouldn’t tell me?”

Liam shrugs again, but there’s something telling in that shrug. “He tells you about the guys that he sleeps with?” Harry asks. If his voice is pitched higher than it normally is no one has to know.

“Be honest, Harry, if he told you about the guys he sleeps with you’d flip out.”

“I would not,” Harry denies, but he’s already thinking about the one and only time Louis had started a story and Harry had just up and left the room entirely. It had been in the X-Factor days, and they’d been too caught up in each other as it was, so Harry had left, thinking that it would be better if they didn’t know that about each other, as well.

Looking back at it, Harry thinks that maybe, yeah, it wasn’t entirely because they already knew too much about each other.

“Yeah,” Liam says, watching Harry’s face.

“What else does he tell you?” Harry asks, a little numbly, because he wants to know but he’s not sure if he can handle any more revelations today.

Liam sighs. “Harry.”

“I trust you with him,” Harry says. “I trust you to take care of him when I can’t.”

Liam scratches his chin idly. Harry can almost hear the rasp his fingers make against his beard. “He’s not yours to give,” Liam says gently. “You don’t get to decide who takes care of him.” Harry presses the back of his hand against his mouth. All of a sudden he just knows. 

His heart is beating so fast he feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest. Louis loves him. _Louis is in love with him_. Harry loves him back, more than anything.

So much for not having any more revelations today. 

“Isn’t he, though?”

“He’s his own person, Harry. No one gets to do that.”

“No, of course, I don’t think I own him or anything,” Harry interrupts. “But, like, he gave me a part of himself, a part that’s different than the part he gave you, or Stan, or any of the boys.”

Liam’s watching him, but not like Harry’s going in the wrong direction with this. “You know when you asked me what I think about when I jerk off?” Harry asks. He doesn’t wait for Liam to answer. “I think about girls, yeah, about tits bouncing and them riding me and how they feel, but I also think about Louis’ hands and his mouth and how he fits up against me.”

“That is way too much information, mate,” Liam says, but he’s smiling. Harry leans down and smacks a kiss onto Liam’s mouth, too hard and off center, just for a second before he leans back.

“Why did you never tell me this before?” Harry breathes.

Liam raises an eyebrow. “I tried to tell you when I realized. Look how that went.”

Harry winces. “Yeah, um, sorry about that. I have to go now, though, so I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

He practically runs out of the room.

 

He’s red faced and out of breath by the time he skids into the living room, where Louis is watching television on the couch with a plate of cereal balanced on his lap.

They must be out of clean bowls again.

“Uh,” Louis says. 

“I need to ask you something,” Harry says. He drops to his knees in front of Louis.

“Okay?” Louis says warily.

“Do you love me?” Harry asks. He pulls the plate out of Louis’ grasp and puts it on the cushion beside him.

“Yes?” Louis says, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry huffs and curls his hands around Louis’ thighs, warm beneath his pajama pants. “No, are you _in love_ with me.”

Louis’ eyes cut away from Harry’s face. “No,” he says. 

Harry’s heart swells. “Okay,” he says agreeably. “So I guess it would be really awkward for me to tell you that the answer to your question is because I didn’t want you to date anyone else.”

Louis’ gaze swings back abruptly. “What?”

“When you asked me what the real reason that I didn’t want you to come out was. It was because I knew that you’d be able to date whoever you wanted and I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you with someone else.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Louis says. “You’ve seen me with guys before. I’ve been in relationships.”

“Your longest relationship lasted two months,” Harry says. “You were only actually able to see the guy for like, ten days out of that two months. When it ended you climbed into my bed and I held you while you cried, and I couldn’t have been happier that it was over.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Do you think that I didn’t know that?” he demands. “Every time I was out with a guy even semi-romantically I knew you weren’t happy about it. I’m not stupid. I know that the worst thing about you is how jealous you get.”

He stands up, knocking Harry onto his arse on the floor. “I should have known that this day would come eventually,” he mutters. 

Harry makes a desperate grab for his ankle before he can walk away and latches on. “I’m going to date guys,” Louis says evenly. 

“You’re going to date _me_ ,” Harry says.

“I’m going to date guys,” Louis repeats, like Harry hadn’t even said anything. “As many guys as I want. Who fucking knows, maybe I’ll date a different guy every two weeks and have sex with every single one of them, and if you have anything to say about it you’re going to keep your fucking mouth shut or else I’m going to buy out my contract.”

His chest is heaving, fists clenched at his sides. Angry. He’s not understanding.

Harry makes his way to his feet, switching his grasp on Louis’ ankle to get a hold of his wrist. “You know that one time,” Harry starts. 

“Don’t,” Louis says tightly. “I was drunk, you were drunk and we did something that we shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Harry says. “I wasn’t that drunk, and I think about it every day.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do about that,” Louis snaps. “I can’t very well erase it from your memory, can I?”

“I don’t want to forget it,” Harry says. He tugs Louis a little closer, until he can tip their heads together, even though Louis still won’t look at him. “I want to keep thinking about it every day. I want to dream about it when I sleep and wake up and press you down into the mattress and do it again.”

Louis breathes out deeply. “I’m not going to be your experiment.”

He still doesn’t understand, then. Harry takes a step backwards and tries not to feel hurt that Louis doesn’t understand, because Harry didn’t understand for years. He can’t expect Louis to be able to interpret it when Harry hasn’t ever said anything before.

“I don’t want sex,” Harry says. He pauses for a minute. “Well, no, I do want sex, I mean, I know you’ve seen your bum before, of course I want to have sex with you. I don’t _just_ want to have sex with you. I want to have everything with you - sex, a relationship, marriage, the whole works. I love you. I’m _in_ love with you.”

Louis is barely breathing, now. “I know that you think that right now,” he says quietly. “But it’s easy to mistake love for being in love.”

Harry bites his tongue against the automatic denial forming. “You don’t think it’s strange that I already treat you like you’re my boyfriend?”

Louis’ wrist twitches in his grip, like he’s trying to control the impulse to pull away. “Of course I think it’s strange, Harry, that’s why I’m trying to put some distance between us.”

“But what about before?” Harry presses. “You knew that I treated you differently but you didn’t care because you liked it. You like that my speech patterns change around you, that you’re the only person I call babe and baby and love. You like that we eat off of the same plate when we’re home. You like that I buy you stuff that I think you’ll like _just because_. You like that if I don’t know what I’m doing I’ll just automatically follow you because it seems right in my head. You like that if I’m having a bad day and being mean to everyone you’re the only person I don’t avoid. You _like_ how I treat you.”

“I know!” Louis yells. He twists his wrist out of Harry’s grip and stumbles back. “I know all that shit, and I know what a terrible person it makes me, alright?”

“What is it going to take for you to believe me?” Harry demands. Louis is throwing up all of his usual defense mechanisms and then some, and all of a sudden Harry doesn’t have the patience to burn his way through them.

“It might be easier to believe if there wasn’t four years of evidence to the contrary,” Louis says.

Harry’s eyebrows climb up his forehead slowly. “Oh, you mean the year that I convinced my mum to drive me out to see you after we’d been apart for less than a week? The first year, the year that we’d known each other for like three months? Or do you mean the year that I moved out of the house I’d grown up in and signed a two year lease with you even though we didn’t know if the band would make it more than six months? 

“Or do you mean the four years that we’ve shared a bed more often than not? Or maybe the year that we pretended that I moved out so we could get people off our backs but really I just sent a couple of my things over to a property I invested in? Oh, no, it must be the year that I had a long-term, committed relationship in. Oh, wait, that was never because I’d always rather come home to you!”

“Stop it,” Louis says. “If you’ve been in love with me for four years why are you just doing something about it now?”

“I didn’t know that I was,” Harry says. 

Louis throws a hand up in the air. “That doesn’t make any sense! You’re one of the most self aware people that I’ve ever met. If you were in love with me you would have realized it before.”

Harry swallows. It’s starting to feel like this might be his last chance to get Louis to believe him. “I think that I was starting to realize for a while,” he says. “Do you know why I don’t write with you and Liam?”

“If you tell me that it’s because you can’t concentrate when you’re in the same room as me I’m going to punch you in the dick and never speak to you again,” Louis says.

“No, it’s because when I write with you the only things I want to write are the things that you’re doing at that exact moment,” Harry says. “It’s just - I’m never happier than when I’m with you, and that shows in my writing.”

“Love songs are part of every boyband’s catalogue,” Louis says challengingly, and Harry kind of wants to cry, because he can’t tell whether Louis is trying to prove him wrong or prove him right anymore.

“Yeah, but when I’m with you all I want to write about it how you stole the last egg roll right off of my plate, or how you can’t reach the top shelves without getting a stool, or how you think that slapping people in the dick is an appropriate reaction to pretty much anything anyone ever does.”

Louis is silent. Harry takes a tiny step closer, and then a bigger one when Louis doesn’t stop him. “Those - those are all my cards. I love you, and I’m _in_ love with you, and I want to be with you, forever or for as long as you’ll take me for.”

Louis only watches as Harry tangles their fingers together slowly. Harry’s about to tip his head to the right angle for a kiss, just a small one on the corner of his mouth, probably, when Louis finally speaks up again.

“I need to go talk to Liam.”

 

Harry tries very hard not to feel depressed, because he _knows_ that Louis feels the same with a certainty that he only ever possesses about Louis. 

But it’s hard to confess all your feelings to the love of your life and have him walk out of the building to talk to another dude.

Harry spends a few hours lying in Louis’ bed with the covers pull up around his shoulders, fucking around with Louis’ Netflix settings so that the only things that come up in the Top Picks for Tommo, Because You Watched, and Recently Watched sections are bad _Twilight_ knock offs.

He’s in the middle of watching _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_ , because it’s the first thing that comes up in a search for _Twilight_ , when Louis comes home.

He drops his keys into the pile of stuff on his dresser. Harry bites back the impulse to tell him to hang them on the hook above it instead, because he’s going to lose them and bitch about it for like an hour in the morning, and watches as he strips his jacket and jumper off, leaving him in a threadbare t-shirt that Harry’s actually pretty sure belongs to him.

He doesn’t seem surprised to find Harry in his bed. Harry very pointedly does not add that to the list of reasons that they should be together.

He looks at Harry for a long, excruciating minute. “Kiss me,” he says eventually.

Harry blinks. “What?”

“If you want me to believe you. Kiss me,” he says. Harry lies on the bed, practically paralyzed.

“Not - not one of those little kisses on the corner of the mouth,” Louis continues, and he’s still talking. Harry hears, “A real kiss, show me that you’re not fucking with me,” but it doesn’t even matter, because Harry’s already moving, scrambling out from underneath the blankets. He gets tangled and almost lands on his face, but it’s not going to stop him, not after Louis has said the words _kiss me_ and meant them. 

Harry crosses the floor to where Louis’ standing in two steps and cups his face with both hands. He presses their mouths together a bit too fast, scared that Louis is going to change his mind and say no, Harry, you can’t put your mouth on mine even though I know that’s all you think about.

Louis doesn’t say that, though, and he doesn’t pull away, so Harry nudges his tongue against Louis’ bottom lip until his mouth falls open just enough for Harry to lick inside.

The temptation to turn it dirty is overwhelming. Louis’ mouth is hot and wet and perfect but Louis said _show me you mean it_ and Harry’s not going to fuck that up, so he strokes his tongue along Louis’ gently, sweetly, and puts all of his love into it. He runs the pads of his thumb across the curve of Louis’ jaw and bites Louis’ soft lower lip, just for a little, just for a second because he can’t _not_ , and pulls back enough to see Louis’ face.

Louis blinks his eyes open slowly, a little flushed in his cheeks. He looks dazed and sweet and like everything Harry’s ever wanted all wrapped up into one perfect little package.

“I love you,” Harry says, can’t not say it. Louis nods a little. His hands come up to grasp Harry’s wrists.

He doesn’t say it back.

 

 

On day eight, hour seven, minute thirty-six, Harry hands Louis the milk for his tea, and Louis goes, “Ta, love you,” absently as he takes it.

Except not absently at all, judging from the flush crawling up the back of his neck as he pours his milk. All of a sudden, Harry doesn’t want the tea anymore. He wants to put his mouth on Louis’ neck and see how far he can make that flush spread.

So that’s what he does, stepping right up against Louis’ back and dragging his teeth down the nape of Louis’ neck. His hair is baby fine there, and he tastes a little like salt, like sweat, but mostly he just tastes so fucking good that Harry wants to taste him all over.

He fits his hips to Louis’ bum and sucks a bruise into his skin. “Is that all it takes to get you going?” Louis asks. He laughs breathlessly when Harry noses up behind his ear.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Harry murmurs. “I’ll show you what it takes to get me going.” He goes to bite the lobe of Louis’ ear, but Louis elbows him, sharp and abrupt, right in the gut.

“I know _exactly_ what it takes to get you going,” he says. He ducks underneath Harry’s arm and takes off, skidding through the kitchen in his bare feet and disappearing into the hallway.

Harry bites his own lip and gives chase. He doesn’t actually expect to catch Louis, because they’ve never had a foot race that Harry has won, so it’s a surprise to round the corner next to the stairs and run full tilt into him.

Harry doesn’t have great balance at the best of times, so he yelps and goes down, bringing Louis with him.

Louis, though, is magically insanely gifted in the athletics department in a way that Harry would be jealous of if it didn’t mean that Harry gets to stare at his bum whenever he does something even remotely sporty, all clad in clingy shorts or loose sweatpants practically begging for Harry to sink his teeth into it the perfect curve of his arse and where was this going again?

Landing on the floor with Louis on top of him, right.

Louis is smirking down at him, like this was exactly the way that he intended for that to go, and it probably was, co-ordinated bastard, but Harry can’t stop himself from smiling up at him, tugging at his wrists to see if Louis will let himself be pulled down to be kissed.

He doesn’t, but having Louis’ wrists in his grip like that is distracting on its own, the feel of Louis’ smooth skin and delicate bones under Harry’s hands, the look of Louis’ tiny wrists encircled by Harry’s big fingers.

“Losing the plot a little, huh, Styles,” Louis says. Harry glances back up at his face and squeezes his wrists deliberately, pushing his hips up into Louis’ arse.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, letting a little smirk of his own cross his face as Louis’ eyelashes flutter against his cheeks.

Louis recovers fast, though. “We could always just fuck right here, beside the stairs,” he says thoughtfully. He pins Harry with his gaze, blue eyed and smoldering. “I’d have to be on top, of course, because I wouldn’t want you to be all over me and slamming up into me so hard that you’re knocking me all over the place. I’d end up hitting my head on the stairs and you’d be so out of it from getting it up in me you wouldn’t even notice, just keep giving it to me until I passed out.”

Harry’s mouth goes dry. He watches as Louis rocks down onto his lap, humming to himself a little. “Yeah, I could just slide down on this cock and use it to get myself off over and over until I was satisfied. Feels like it’d be able to do the trick, nice and long and fat, innit.”

He rocks down a few more times. Harry’s not wearing pants underneath his sweats, cock sticking up big and hard and almost free to go wherever it wants. Harry’s shocked into moving when Louis manages to get it to slip right up against his arse, practically in between his cheeks even through two layers of fabric, planting his feet firmly on the ground and thrusting up to meet the movement of Louis’ hips.

Louis gasps, wrists rotating in Harry’s grasp. He sets his hands down against Harry’s abs. “You’d give me a good ride, would you, love?” he murmurs. Harry thrusts up a few more times, cock leaking inside his sweats.

He hauls Louis down to get at his mouth, layering little open mouthed kisses along Louis’ plush bottom lip that must sting, what with the liberal amounts of teeth Harry’s using.

Louis doesn’t seem to mind, panting into Harry’s mouth, breathy little gasps escaping him.

Harry drags their mouths apart and forces Louis upright. “Bedroom. Go.” 

His voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it himself. Louis shudders a little, body rocking down onto Harry’s cock again, before he’s scrambling out of Harry’s lap and making a mad dash up the stairs.

Harry has to grip his cock and give it a few harsh tugs before he can get up, breathes wetly into his forearm for a minute before he can make it up the stairs.

Louis’ nowhere to be seen by the time Harry reaches the bedroom. One of the drawers is pulled all the way out of the bedside table, contents scattered all over the floor. 

Harry strips his shirt off over his head before entering the ensuite bathroom. Louis’ on his knees on the tile, half in the cupboard underneath the sink, tossing things behind him as he scrounges.

Harry leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest. “Problems?” he asks. 

Louis jerks, hits his head, and promptly cusses up a storm before he emerges holding a string of condoms. “Couldn’t find any rubbers in the drawers. Hi.”

Harry reaches out and hooks his fingers in the waist of Louis’ pajama pants. “Hi,” he echoes, tugging until Louis is close enough to touch. “We gonna use all those?”

Louis shrugs, looking up at Harry from underneath his eyelashes. “Dunno. Could always use them with my other boyfriend if you’re not up for it.”

Harry tips his head down and brushes their lips together softly. “Mm. Mind if I steal a few? I’ve got this pretty little number waiting who says that he wants me to give him a good ride.”

Louis laughs, bright and happy, and starts shoving Harry out of the bathroom. “Nah, I don’t mind. My boyfriend’s probably only good for one round, anyway. He’s one of the big ones, ya know? Thinks because he’s got a great cock he knows what it takes to please a boy.”

Harry goes easily, because he wants to have sex with Louis in the bed that he’s spent more nights in than not since they’ve moved in here. “Not easily pleased, then?” Harry asks. “Shame, that. My boy’s so responsive he comes all the time. Some might even say that he’s a little premature.”

Louis squawks and punches Harry’s ribs. Harry falls back onto the bed and watches Louis hover over him. “You sure that it’s not you who’s a little premature? I’ve heard things, you know. Don’t want to be disappointed if you’re only going to be able to give me thirty seconds.”

Harry starts wiggling out of his sweatpants. “I think we both know that I’m going to give you more than thirty seconds, baby,” he says. He kicks the sweats off and doesn’t even care where they land. He can find them in the morning.

“You haven’t exactly impressed me with your stamina so far, Harold,” Louis says haughtily. Harry pushes his t-shirt up and sinks his teeth into Louis’ flat belly. Louis’ knees tremble a little.

“Dunno how I was supposed to impress you with my stamina when you had your hand on my cock,” Harry says. He gives the bite a gentle lick, soothing it a little. Louis’ hands land on the back of his shoulders.

“If you couldn’t impress me with your stamina when all I was doing was jerking you off I have no idea how you’re going to impress me when I let you put it inside me,” Louis says. Harry drags his teeth down Louis’ belly until his nose is nestled into the cut of Louis’ hip.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Harry tells Louis’ hip. He bunches his hands in the fabric of Louis’ pajama pants and drags them down. His cock springs out, hard and pretty and searching for Harry’s warmth, so Harry obliges it, sucking the head into his mouth. 

Louis breathes out a moan and pets his hands through Harry’s hair, practically bent right over Harry’s shoulder. Harry takes more in, sliding down the length of Louis’ cock. He’s never given a blowjob before, he thinks he’s probably going to be pretty amazing at them, what with the way he can deep throat a banana and all.

Louis pulls him back before he can find out, though, shoving him up the bed with brute force. Harry doesn’t have to help but he does, wiggling along until his back hits the pillows. 

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” he points out. Louis snorts, and if it was anyone else it’d be rather unattractive, but it’s Louis so it’s mostly hopelessly endearing and also a little sexy.

“Just because you’re always walking around naked doesn’t mean the rest of us have to join in your nudist tendencies,” he says tartly. 

“So you _don’t_ want to get fucked then,” Harry says. “Or should I just rip a hole in these things? They’re running pretty ragged as it is.”

Louis shrugs, straddling Harry’s hips. Harry’s momentarily distracted by the spread of Louis’ thighs around him. “I’ve got toys. Some of ‘em even vibrate. I can make do.”

“Jesus,” Harry breathes. He can picture it, Louis whimpering and biting his lip and rocking down onto a plastic cock, trying desperately to hit the right spot but mostly failing, getting more and more riled up until he’s all but given up and all of a sudden he just _gets it_ , and then it only takes a few good thrusts before he’s coming all over himself.

“What, so you like thinking about me getting off with a fake cock but if you think about me getting off on a real cock you get jealous and snarky?” 

Harry licks his lips. “I like thinking about you getting off on a real cock,” he denies, because he does, big, thick cock ramming Louis just right, over and over until Louis creams himself all over the sheets, maybe even gets some on his face, dripping down his jaw. In his mouth.

“No, you like thinking about me getting off on your cock,” Louis corrects. Harry shrugs, unrepentant, because so what if that cock happens to be attached to Harry’s body?

“Gonna get you off on my cock now, aren’t I?” Harry asks. He slides his hands underneath Louis’ t-shirt and helps him ease it over his head. He flicks at Louis’ pink nipples once it’s off, rubbing over the hurt with the pads of his thumbs.

“You can try,” Louis says. “I’m notoriously hard to please, remember?”

Harry hums and tucks his fingers back under Louis’ waistband. He frees Louis’ cock again and wonders absently when it had gotten trapped. Poor little cock, being forced to be in those pajamas when it could be out here with Harry’s, playing together.

“You didn’t seem so hard to please yesterday,” Harry says. “Came all over my hand after three strokes. Got yourself so turned on playing with my cock you just couldn’t help it, huh? Just aching to give me your cream.”

“Fuuuck,” Louis gasps out. His weight lifts off of Harry’s hips abruptly. Harry wonders where he’s going, but only for a second, because he sits back down bare arsed and hot in Harry’s lap.

“Oh, that’s so nice, baby,” Harry murmurs. He smoothes his hands down Louis’ back and over his bum. “Feels so nice in my lap. D’you wanna open yourself up or do you want me to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Louis says. “God only knows how long it’ll take if you do it. We’ll probably still be here when I’m eighty.” He leans over and grabs something off the table, presumably the lube.

Harry catches his wrist when he sits back up properly. “Hey. You’re my best boy, you know that, right?”

Louis smiles brilliantly as he uncaps the lube. “I know that, yeah.” He reaches behind himself, and Harry’s pretty sure that he just puts a finger in, no preamble or anything.

Harry grips Louis’ hips in both hands. Louis’ cock jerks where it’s lying against Harry’s belly, still so lovely and flushed. Harry puts his hand around it and rubs it a little, coaxing out a little bit more wetness.

He watches the head of it disappear, reappear, with the movements of his hand, and fuck, it might be the prettiest thing that Harry’s ever seen. He can think of something that would probably be prettier, though, so he slides his other hand up Louis’ side and grips him underneath his arm.

“Let me see, yeah?” he asks. Louis looks at him, flush high in his cheeks.

“You wanna see?” he murmurs. “You wanna know what I look like when I’m getting stuffed full of fingers?” 

Harry swallows the rush of saliva in his mouth. “Yeah, I wanna see that,” he says. He swipes his thumb over Louis’ nipple because he can reach it without moving his hand. “Lemme see it, baby.”

Louis folds down over Harry’s chest gracefully. His cheek is smushed up against Harry’s collarbone, and his hair is itchy against Harry’s neck, but it doesn’t matter, because Louis has two fingers buried in his own arse, moving in and out, scissoring so Harry can see the deep pink of his hole.

“Lou,” Harry breathes. “Lou, you look so amazing.” He feels around on the bedspread blindly until his hand knocks into the bottle of lube. He manages to uncap it without tearing his eyes away and pours some out onto his hand. 

“Let me, I’m gonna,” Harry says. He sinks a finger in between Louis’.

“Oh,” Louis moans. He clenches down around it, tight, wet heat clinging to Harry’s finger. “You gotta warn a boy before you go around putting fingers in him, Harold.” Harry pets at him, on the inside where he’s so hot and tight it’s almost unbelievable. Louis’ cock is still pressing up against Harry’s belly, and Harry feels a moment of sympathy for it, but only a moment, because his own cock has been hard for what feels like hours with no stimulation.

“Give us a kiss, then,” Louis demands, and Harry’s straining to kiss him before he even registers the words.

All of a sudden, he remembers that he has another hand, and uses it to rub down the line of Louis’ throat as they kiss, long and lazy. Harry’s hand could wrap around half of Louis’ neck, easy, and it’s a thought that he pushes to the back of his mind for another day. Maybe a day when Louis is being willfully irritating and wild and needs to be shown a place where he can just be quiet.

Louis breaks the kiss. Harry chases after his mouth blindly, digging his fingers into Louis’ bicep. “You gonna put on a rubber?” he asks. Harry opens his eyes.

“Yes. That. I’m gonna do that,” he says stupidly. He fumbles around for the condom packet, trying to ignore the heat of Louis’ body around his finger. He mostly fails, but there’s no way that he’s going to pull it out unless he absolutely has to.

He fails in getting the condom open. Louis sighs, slides his fingers out of his own arse, wipes them on Harry’s stomach, and calmly rips it open. 

Harry whimpers, partially because of the loss of the heat of Louis’ fingers pressing up against his own, but mainly because without Louis’ fingers he can slip his middle finger in next to his index, and that’s.

That’s fucking amazing, the flex of Louis’ muscles around two of his fingers.

He whimpers again as Louis rolls the condom down over his cock and expertly applies a layer of lube to it.

Then Louis’ hand disappear, and his weight shifts on top of Harry, causing Harry’s fingers to slip out, almost like - 

No, that’s not happening. Not this time, at least.

He grasps Louis’ hips and flips them. Louis squeaks and thumps his shoulder. “Oi, you bastard, what was that for?” he complains. “I was just about to put it in.”

“Like this, the first time,” Harry tells him. “Gonna give it to you like this the first time, so all you have to do is lie back and take it.” 

Louis’ lips curve into a smile. “Gonna give me a proper seeing to, then?” he asks. Harry fits a hand underneath his thigh and opens him up a little more. “Send me off to dreamland split open and used? Make me wake up sore and - ” Harry pushes in, one long, smooth thrust that has Louis’ words stuttering out.

“Make you wake up sore and achy from taking my cock so good,” Harry picks up. He drops his other hand to Louis’ hip and tilts him up for the next thrust. It’s hot and tight inside Louis’ body, so fucking amazing that Harry almost loses his train of thought.

“Gonna wake up wanting more, though,” Harry continues, “Even though you’re bruised and tired and you know you shouldn’t let me up in you again so soon, you’re gonna do it anyway. Gonna let me wreck that pretty little hole as many times as I want, aren’t you?” 

He nails Louis’ prostate on his next thrust. Louis’ arms curl around his neck, hanging on as the headboard bounces against the wall. “Please, yes, I’ll let you,” Louis says. He runs his mouth over Harry’s cheek until he can fit their mouths together, even though they’re both breathing too hard to make it a proper kiss.

Harry bites at Louis’ lip, feels it start swelling before he even lets it go. “You’d let me do anything I want to you, wouldn’t you?” He thrusts in particularly hard. Louis keens, nails scratching down Harry’s back.

“Anything, Harry, anything you want, please, just,” Louis babbles. He turns their faces together again clumsily, licking over Harry’s lips. Harry bites the tip of his tongue, gently, and sucks it into his mouth to soothe it. 

Louis has his ankles locked behind Harry’s back, so Harry lets go of his thigh and grabs for his cock, leaking against his stomach. “What if I say I want to love you for the rest of my life?” Harry murmurs into Louis’ mouth. “What if I say that I want to have you underneath me every night until the day I die? What if I say I don’t ever want any other guy to be able to put his cock inside you? Would you let me have that?”

Louis doesn’t answer, but he comes in Harry’s hand, clenching down hard around Harry’s cock, and Harry can’t help but follow him, cock pulsing inside Louis’ arse.

Harry sighs into Louis’ mouth, kissing him again. “Say it,” he says, pulling back.

“I love you,” Louis says. “I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” 

Harry pulls out, wincing at the drag on his over sensitive cock. “I know.”

It’s worth it, even though Louis does immediately slap him in the dick.

 

 

They come out during a SugarScape interview. They’re supposed to do it on one of the big talk shows, but Louis hates that idea, and Harry would follow him to the ends of the Earth, so.

The interviewer is a dark haired, pretty woman who asks them, “So, is Larry Stylinson real?” just flat out and blunt, handling them exactly the same way SugarScape has always handled them, even four years, four Brits, two AMAs and countless interviews later.

Louis offers the camera a tiny, insolent shrug. “Well, I mean, he didn’t always exist. He was dreamed up in the hearts of our fans but I can definitely say that he’s very real now.”

She’s quick, this one, wasting no time to ask, “And how do you feel about Harry?”

“Eh, you know, I could take him or leave him,” Louis says, shrugging bigger this time. “He does have quite a big head, you know.”

Harry smiles at his shoes and ignores Liam, Niall and Zayn laughing so hard it legitimately seems like they might explode.

“Oh yeah? I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, though.”

“Oh no, I know that for a fact. He’s one of the ones who thinks that just because he’s got a great cock he knows how to please a boy, you know?” Louis says, smirking at Harry behind his microphone.

Harry can’t stop smiling as he lifts his mic up to his lips. “That’s strange. I’ve got this boyfriend who’s super sensitive, comes all the time. Sometimes I even think that he’s a little premature.”

Louis’ smile is as brilliant as ever. Paul cuts off the interviewer by saying that they’re out of time, even though Harry’s pretty sure that she’s got at least two minutes left. They get a dressing down from their management for letting it leak ‘on SugarScape, of all places’ and they still have to do the big talk show interview.

Coincidentally, that’s also the first interview that Harry has to admit defeat in and kiss Louis to silence him in.

It’s not the last.


End file.
